Carry On My Wayward Sons
by Phinneas McCheeser
Summary: The Burning Bridge/Icebound Land AU. Horace delivers Gilan's message, and Gilan is captured with Will and Evanlyn at the bridge. The three friends are en route to Skandia to be sold as slaves. Halt vows to find his apprentices and bring them home, no matter the personal cost, and Crowley joins him. But will they be in time to save Will and Gilan? NO SLASH. Will be novel length.
1. Prologue

**~~~PROLOGUE~~~**

_Carry on my wayward son  
__There'll be peace when you are done.  
__Lay your weary head to rest,  
__Don't you cry no more._

The dishes had all been cleaned and put away. The fire was crackling merrily from the stone fireplace in the corner, and there was plenty of wood stacked on the hearth for later. It was storming outside, but the doors and windows were all closed and the atmosphere inside was warm and cozy. For once, everything was right with the world.

It didn't happen often, Gilan thought to himself. But sometimes, you think and think and think and just can't find anything wrong with the world. He was inside, and warm, and full of good food. He was sitting on a comfortable couch with his best friend next to him and his mentor reading reports in his favorite chair across the room. There were no tasks that needed doing, no places that needed traveling to, no dangerous battles that needed fighting. Just him and the two people he considered his family, sitting quietly and enjoying each other's company.

It wasn't always this way.

Now, they were three grown Rangers: a former teacher who still found himself teaching and his once-upon-a-time students, who were still being taught years later. But when their story began—really began—things had been different. They had been three people: a boy, Will, frightened and kidnapped by slave traders. His close friend and protector, Gilan, who had been captured alongside him. And their desperate former and current mentor, whose only thought had been to find his boys and bring them home.

If he still thought about it, Gilan could easily feel the ice cold of metal shackles fastened around his ankles. He knew that, if asked, Will could do the same thing—perhaps with even more ease than himself. As per usual, the thought made him feel vaguely sick to his stomach, and he sighed.

Halt glanced up at him. "Thinking about Skandia again?" he asked casually, looking over his former apprentice with a practiced eye. Gilan started.

"How did you know?"

"It's the only time when you're not smiling," Halt said dryly, and Gilan sighed again.

"Yeah, well, there's not much to smile about," he muttered, tone dark. Halt watched him, concerned, but saying nothing. If Gilan wanted to talk, he knew that he would. As things were, however, the young Ranger did nothing but shift slightly in his seat and turn to watch his younger friend sleeping beside him.

Halt's eyes followed Gilan's, and a smile crossed his face. A corner of Gilan's mouth twitched upwards. "You know you're going to have to get him back to bed eventually," Halt said, indicating Will with a nod of his head. Gilan fondly glanced at Will.

"I suppose he's too grown up to carry now," he mused, half to himself, and Halt snorted.

"He's been too grown up to carry for years."

Gilan sighed again and lightly carded a hand through Will's dark hair, smoothing it away from his eyes. Halt raised an eyebrow, amused.

"If you wake my apprentice up, Gilan…" He left the threat hanging, but Gilan knew it was empty. He also knew that, if Will had been alone with any two other people, he would have woken at the touch instantly. Halt and Gilan, however, were different. Will's sleeping brain was telling him that here, he was safe… Here, nothing could harm him.

Gilan felt honored to have someone trust him so highly.

"Why do you still call him that, anyways?" he asked his teacher, still stroking Will's hair with one hand. "He's hardly your apprentice any more, after all." Halt looked up at him briefly before returning to the papers in front of him.

"The same reason you still call him 'little brother,'" his mentor replied easily. "Then he parroted, "After all, he's hardly little any more."

Gilan noticed that his former master said nothing about the two of them not actually being _real_ brothers and grinned as he nodded, acquiescing the point. "No matter how old he gets," he mused, "I'm always going to see the part of him that's still that innocent kid with the bright eyes who jumped out of that tree on the way to the Gathering." He ruffled Will's hair affectionately, and Will shifted in his sleep, involuntarily resting his head on Gilan's shoulder. The older Ranger smiled.

"That never gets old," he said to himself. He gave Will's shoulder a gentle shake. At Halt's inquiring glance, he said, "If I can't carry him, I at least have to wake him up. He'll never forgive me if I let him sleep out here."

Will's eyelids fluttered, opening slowly, lazily. Gilan smiled again. "Wake up," he said softly, thumb stroking Will's forehead. The youngest Ranger in the room groaned softly before pulling himself into an upright position. He grimaced.

"I was sleeping," he grumbled, but both Gilan and Halt knew he didn't truly mean it.

"And now you're not," Halt said evenly. "Now up you get. It's high time the both of you got to sleep. In a bed," he added, seeing Will's mouth open. "Now get."

Reluctantly, both young Rangers stood up. Gilan placed a hand on Will's shoulder, squeezing lightly and steadying him as he almost pitched forwards. He squeezed again in response to the mumbled, barely audible "Thanks, Gil."

The older Ranger guided Will over to their mentor with a half-smile. Halt smiled back—a rare occurrence. "Good night, Halt."

Will looked up at this point (somewhat blearily) and they all knew what he was going to say. "G'night, Dad." Halt's smile grew just a tiny bit wider at the words, despite the fact that he'd been expecting them, and he replied fondly as he always did.

"Good night, sons. Sleep well." Gilan nodded, and began walking towards the bedroom he and Will typically shared when Gilan visited. "I'll be here if anything happens." By which he really meant, "I'm right here if either of you has a nightmare." Even after all the years that had passed since their experiences as slaves, the horrific things the younger men had suffered were enough to have them waking repeatedly in a cold sweat, thrashing about and shouting each other's names. Gilan nodded.

"We know."

Once they were inside the bedroom, Gilan practically shoved Will towards the bed. "If you don't get under those blankets now, you'll fall asleep standing up," he said with a raised eyebrow. Will yawned as a response, and Gilan rolled his eyes.

"I saw that," Will protested indignantly—but he still allowed Gilan to straighten the covers once he was finally under them. They never called it tucking in, because that sounded immature and childish, but Gilan had been doing it ever since their return from Skandia and he certainly wasn't about to stop now.

"You're like a great big overprotective brother bear," Will mumbled. Gilan snorted at him, amused.

"Oh yes? And what does that make Halt, then?"

"The mother."

Gilan laughed—a real, true laugh, as he finished with the blankets on Will's bed. "You'd best not tell him that." Will yawned again, tiredness evident in his voice when he replied.

"He wouldn't mind."

Gilan smiled gently. "You're right," he whispered. "He probably wouldn't. Sleep well."

But Will was already asleep.

* * *

**A/N: All right, so I'm going to do something different with this story. Every chapter title (except for the epilogue) will be a song title or important lyric from a song. I'll give shout outs at the end of each chapter to all my reviewers who correctly guess the artist/song title. If there might be more than one song by that name, I'll give the genre as well. So for this chapter we'll just use the story title (this is an easy one for us Supernatural fans): The song Carry On My Wayward Son was written/performed by what band?**

**Reviews please!**


	2. In the Beginning

**Disclaimer (which I forgot last time): I do not own Ranger's Apprentice, folks. It all goes to John Flanagan. Nor do I own the song whose lyrics are below. And when I really think about it, I don't own the title either. Dang it...**

* * *

**~~~CHAPTER ONE~~~**

_In time, the nations grew weak,  
__And our cities fell to slums  
__While evil stood strong  
__In the dusts of Hell lurked the blackest of hates,  
__For he whom they feared  
__Awaited them…_

* * *

_Ten years previously…_

"He looks just like he's sleeping," Evanlyn whispered, staring down at Will as if he were a ghost. While he waspale—too pale, they both thought—the ash and blood streaked across his face created a very _living_ appearance. Gilan sighed. Were he and Evanlyn any better off? Not likely.

"It's not as if he's dead, for heaven's sake," the Ranger murmured softly. He was trying not to draw the attention of the Skandians, who sat slightly off to the side and away from the Araluens. One of the bigger ones was keeping a watchful eye on the three captives, but made no move to restrain them. Gilan sighed again.

If he was honest with himself, there wasn't much about their current situation that looked good—that is, aside from the fact that Will most certainly _wasn't _dead. Gilan wasn't sure he could have borne that, if it had been the case. "He's just unconscious, thank God."

"But that rock hit his head hard!" Evanlyn protested, and though Gilan could appreciate her worry for their friend he was starting to grow annoyed. "I know he's not dead, but what if he's concussed, or seriously injured in some other way?"

"Then I can help him," Gilan said patiently. "I know what to do. But right now, all we can do is wait for him to wake up on his own." Evanlyn humphed, but settled down and did as Gilan said.

The burly Skandian who had been assigned watch duty made his way over to the Araluens. Gilan shifted subtly, so that he was sitting in front of Will. The message was clear. "There's food, if you want any," the sea wolf said gruffly. He made no move towards any of them. "You can come get it." He turned and walked quickly back to the rest of his countrymen.

Gilan looked down at Will, hesitant to leave him. Evanlyn sensed his inner conflict. "I'll get some for you," she said. Gilan looked up.

"Thanks," he said gratefully, and she nodded.

"I don't want anything to happen to him either, you know," she commented, and Gilan sighed deeply.

"I know you don't. None of us do. It's just—before we set off for this mission, I sort of promised Halt I'd look after him. Bring him back safely. And now—"

"This wasn't your fault, Gilan!" Evanlyn exclaimed, eyes wide, and the Ranger waved her off.

"I appreciate that, Evanlyn, but I could have done _something. _And anyway." He sighed again. "Will's the closest thing to a son Halt has, and he's a good friend of mine too. But he's young. And you forget… He's more than willing to give his life for a cause he believes in, but he's still a boy. He shouldn't _have _to do that in the first place."

Evanlyn's emerald eyes were dark in understanding—or was it sympathy? It was hard to tell, Gilan decided, and it didn't really matter. "But here we are," she said knowingly.

It was definitely understanding.

"You either want food or you don't!" the leader of the Skandian patrol shouted over at them, breaking them out of their conversation. Gilan racked his brains for a name. Erak, that was it. Evanlyn stood.

"I'll be back soon," she said, turning and walking hurriedly towards their captors before they decided the wait was too long.

Gilan turned to look down at Will, who was showing no signs of waking up. Evanlyn had been right. He did seem peaceful. At least, more so than when he was awake. You could almost imagine he was just a normal teenager, if you ignored the bronze oakleaf hanging on its silver chain across his chest.

Instinctively, Gilan's fingers went to brush his own leaf. A reminder of so many promises—oaths sworn to his friends, to his country, to his family, each a separate burden for him to bear. But one in particular hung heavy on his mind and in his heart. His words to Halt...

"I swear, Will," he whispered. "We'll get home safe. I promise."

Yet another oath to keep.

* * *

"You could at least pretend to pay attention to me, you know."

Halt glared balefully up at his old friend, but there was none of the usual heat in his gaze, and Crowley sighed.

"Halt, we'll get them back soon enough. Gilan will look after him, you know that." Halt rose from his seat restlessly, and began pacing back and forth. They were currently the only ones inside the main command tent, everyone else having left several minutes ago after the last meeting, and so neither one had any issue with speaking their minds to each other.

"But that's no guarantee they're both safe!" Halt said in obvious frustration. "For all we know, Morgarath could be—"

"And for all we know, they've already escaped and are on their way here right now," Crowley interrupted calmly, effectively cutting Halt off before he could say the word _torture_ and get himself even more worked up than he already was. "Halt, I know this is hard for you, but you have to look at the bigger picture. This battle isn't going to fight itself, you know, and there's too much at stake for you not to be one hundred percent on task."

"I _am_ on task!" Halt stated indignantly, but Crowley shook his head.

"No, you're too busy pacing and worrying about your apprentices, former and current. Now sit—" he gestured to an empty chair—"and calm down. We've got a war to fight, and Morgarath is out there just waiting

to tear this country apart."

Halt obeyed reluctantly, his captured apprentices still taking number one priority in his mind. "So do they," he whispered, silently praying (to whom, even he didn't know) for the safety and protection of the boys he considered his own. _  
_

* * *

His head was pounding, like someone was repeatedly hitting it with a hammer. Every bone in his body ached. For a moment, he wondered what stupid, idiotic thing he'd done recently to warrant that sort of pain—then he remembered. Everything came back in a flash. The bridge, falling, Evanlyn screaming, Gilan's eyes going wide as he shouted his name—

Will's eyes snapped open.

* * *

**A/N: Hey all! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate all the support for this new story :) Here's a shoutout to the people who correctly guessed the band from last chapter: CAITHLINN 13 and FEATHERS MCSTRANGE! You guys are awesome! For those of you who didn't know, the song Carry On My Wayward Son is by the fantastic band Kansas. **

**Up this chapter: In the Beginning was recorded by what band?**

**Keep those reviews coming! I'm shooting for the next update in a week.**


	3. No More

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice. I mean, I dream about it, but I always wake up. I also do not own the song lyrics below.**

**Review reply to Guest: You weren't signed in, so I couldn't PM you, but I really appreciated your review! I'm really glad you like what's going on so far. Your words were very encouraging, and made me grin for waaay too long. Thank you so much!****  
**

* * *

**~~~CHAPTER TWO~~~**

_Give me a reason to stay here,  
__Cause I don't want to live in fear.  
__I can't stop the rain,  
__But I can stop the tears,  
__Oh I can fight the fire,  
__But I can't fight the fear..._

* * *

"Will!"

Both Gilan and Evanlyn practically pounced on the apprentice as soon as he opened his eyes. He groaned softly. "Ouch," he mumbled. Gilan helped him into a sitting position, and Will leaned on the older Ranger as a wave of nausea swept over him. He groaned again.

"Feel sick?" Gilan asked, voice softer than it would have been ordinarily. Will grunted in affirmation. Gilan's mouth tightened. "I thought so. You probably have a concussion. What do you remember?"

"Um…" Will closed his eyes. "We burned the bridge… Someone screamed. And then I got hit in the head with a rock, I think." Gilan nodded. Will frowned, and reopened his eyes. "What about you two? Are you all right?"

Evanlyn laughed, and after the difficulty of the past several hours the sound was like music to the ears of both Rangers. Her smile was contagious. "We're fine," she assured him. "We're more worried about you.

"Well, I'll be all right," Will said matter-of-factly and Gilan nodded, knowing where Will was trying to take this and determined to put a stop to it.

"Yes, you will be. But you're not yet. So you need to take it easy, all right?"

Will frowned. He glanced around without moving his head—Halt had drilled that into both of them very effectively—and lowered his voice upon seeing that nobody was keeping a close eye on them. "What if we need to run?" Gilan bit his lip, and Will continued. "Gil, you know as well as I do that our current situation is, for lack of a better phrase, _really bad._" If Will's words hadn't been so true, Gilan would have laughed. "If we see an opportunity, we _have_ to take it. It's either that, or…"

Slowly, Gilan nodded. "You're right, of course," he murmured with a sigh. Will gave a simple shrug.

"I'll just have to make do if anything comes up."

Evanlyn stood suddenly, dusting off her clothes. "We need more water," she announced. "Erak whatsisname said so. I'll go fetch some." She smiled sardonically. "Don't wait up for me." Gilan rolled his eyes as she walked away, and Will grinned when she shouted at the sentry who asked where she was going. The noise of the argument faded away as Evanlyn went farther towards the river.

The two Rangers lapsed into a familiar, solemn silence. They had sat like this for a time after the Kalkara hunt, Gilan recalled. Of course, things had been difficult then as well, more so for Gilan than anyone else. What with the tragic loss of his father and all… Thinking about it, however, _difficult _seemed like somewhat of an understatement when describing their current predicament.

Will sighed. "I miss Halt," he said finally, and Gilan looked over at him. There was something about the boy in that moment that was so inherently sad—his face, or his posture, perhaps. He looked a bit like a kicked puppy. Gilan might have laughed if he didn't feel the same way.

"Yeah. Me too." He paused. "He always has the answer to everything, doesn't he?"

Will shrugged. "Yes, but—it's more than that. I mean—"

"I know what you mean."

Ever since his father had been the first victim of the Kalkara last year, Halt had always been there for Gilan. The death of his father had made Gilan officially an orphan, and he didn't think he could have handled it nearly as well, or at all, if it hadn't been for Halt. Will was in a slightly different situation, having never known his parents to begin with, but the end result had been the same: somewhere along the line, Halt had become like a father to Will. To both of them, really.

Would they ever get the chance to tell him?

"We just have to keep faith," Gilan said with a great deal more conviction than he actually felt. It wasn't that he didn't trust their mentor—in all actuality, he probably trusted the man a bit too much—it was just that right now, all the cards were against them. But Will didn't need to know that just yet. "Halt'll come for us. He always does."

Will nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the ground miserably. Gilan sighed. "And, besides. I promised I'd protect you, right?"

This, the older Ranger was pleased to see, brought the faint hint of a smile to Wills' face. "Gil, we've been captured by pirates. I don't think that counts anymore."

Gilan's expression grew suddenly serious. "It counts," he said, quiet and solemnly, so that Will was somewhat taken aback. "It counts more than anything."

A pause. Then Will frowned. "Is that—hoofbeats?" Gilan listened. Yes, there were definitely hoofbeats in the distance, approaching their camp, growing louder and louder. Will twisted around to look behind them, and what he saw made his mouth go dry.

The Skandians scrambled to their feet as one. Erak cursed. "That's Morgarath himself on that white horse!" he exclaimed, and his second-in-command swore loudly. Gilan turned to Will, eyes wide.

"Your oakleaf!" he exclaimed urgently, in a quieter voice. His hand fumbled with his own leaf. "You need to hide it!" As quickly as possible, the Rangers tucked their oakleaves inside their shirts. There was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. This was their best chance at survival. Evanlyn, both Rangers realized, was still out gathering water. Gilan hoped she had the common sense to stay away from the conflict—there was something just not right about her still…

Morgarath's horse slowed down, approaching the camp at a canter. Will swallowed. The Dark Lord truly was a fearsome sight. He was dressed in armor, ready for battle. He had ash-white hair, a thin face, and cold, bloodless lips that tightened upon close examination of the camp. Black eyes lingered on Will and Gilan for just a second too long, and Will shivered.

"Captain Erak," he commanded in a peculiar, slightly flat tone. The Skandian stepped forth.

"With all due respect, the correct title is Jarl," the sea wolf explained. Morgarath nodded.

"I shall remember that… Captain." Erak took a deep, deliberate breath. "Now what is this?" and he gestured with one hand to Will and Gilan who were thankfully bereft of their Ranger cloaks. With their simple brown and forest green attire, they could easily have been mistaken for farmers or simple country men.

"Slaves. We captured them in Celtica," Erak lied smoothly, but Morgarath remained at least partially unconvinced.

"Celtica is mine, Captain. Slaves from Celtica are mine as well."

"The deal was that we fought for booty, and slaves are included in that," Erak argued, stubborn. Morgarath looked as if he were about to reply, when he stopped abruptly. He raised one hand, a pale finger crooked and pointing at Will's throat.

"What's that?"

Gilan turned to follow the Dark Lord's gaze with a sinking feeling in his heart, and surely enough one small ray of sunlight was glinting dully off of the silver chain that still hung from Will's neck. Morgarath dismounted with blinding speed and was in front of Will before they could blink, tearing the oakleaf and chain away from the apprentice's neck in a display of absolute hatred.

"A Ranger!" he snarled, nostrils flaring, and Will froze in terror. The implacable, mad _fury_ in the Dark Lord's eyes rooted him to the spot while Gilan watched, horrified but helpless to do anything. "A Ranger! This is their sign!" Realization spread across his face. "This is the _whelp_ that burned my bridge!"

"He's only a boy," Erak tried to intervene, but Morgarath would have none of it.

"He is no boy! He is a Ranger! And you!" He turned to Gilan, and now it was Will's turn to watch helplessly as Morgarath jerked the oakleaf on its silver chain into full view. "You as well!"

Gilan was young—_very _young—when Morgarath had been defeated. Only several months old, his father had told him. But the stories of evil and horror were as fresh in his mind as if they had been told yesterday. All his life, and all of Will's too, he would have been willing to bet, he'd been told tales of Morgarath and his legendary hatred of Rangers—a hatred which, ironically enough, had been triggered by Halt himself when Morgarath had first been defeated. And now, here were both of Halt's apprentices: captured and totally at the mercy of the man who hated their kind more than any other.

If nothing else, Gilan thought optimistically (or as much as it was possible to be, in his situation), Morgarath didn't know exactly _whose _apprentices they were. At least, not yet. Now if he decided to torture them, which Gilan had no doubt he would enjoy—that would be a different story. Gilan didn't have faith in his own ability to withstand anything of that sort, and Will was so young he didn't even want to consider the possibility. And once Morgarath discovered the identity of the man who'd taught them—

So much for optimistic.

Morgarath was beyond furious, but outwardly he seemed to have calmed down. With one hand, he kept a tight grip on Will's wrist as if sensing that Gilan would never flee without the younger boy, who seemed to be dealing with their situation better than Gilan had hoped. Instead of succumbing to mindless terror, he remained alert. Gilan could see the fear written plainly in his eyes, but he wasn't letting it rule him. _Good_ _boy_, _Will_, Gilan thought to himself. He could see the potential Halt had noticed in him.

Apparently, so could Morgarath. The ex-Baron frowned slightly, looking down at Will through narrowed, black eyes. "You interest me," he mused in a slightly quieter voice. Will twisted in Morgarath's grip, but the knight's grasp was like iron; tight enough to leave bruises. The apprentice looked distinctly uncomfortable at the close scrutiny of the man who wanted him dead, but said nothing aloud.

Morgarath looked back at Erak and spoke, his words sending slivers of ice through Gilan's heart. "I think I'll be taking this one with me."

* * *

**A/N: Please don't hate me! I know it's a cliffie, so because I feel bad for you guys I'll post the next chapter on Saturday, not Sunday. :) Extra long chapter this week - almost 2000 words! Lucky you guys! Looks like no one got the chapter title from last week, so here's the answer: In the Beginning was written/recorded by Motley Crue. **

**Here's a more popular song for this week: Which rock band wrote/recorded the song No More? Lyrics are underneath the chapter heading.**

**Keep those reviews coming!**


	4. The Words I Would Say

**Disclaimer: Nope. Nothing. I own absolutely nothing. Except for the shirt I'm wearing, and maybe one of the socks.**

**Review reply to J.D (Guest): Have no fears about that, this will continue on for quite a while! Thanks for the review!**

**Review reply to Guest: Thank you so much for your review! I'm go glad you like the character interactions and relationships. The bromance will continue to go on strong! :) I'm a sucker for it, to be honest...**

* * *

**~~~CHAPTER THREE~~~**

_Its three in the morning, and I'm still awake,  
__So I picked up a pen and a page,  
__And I started writing just what I'd say  
__If we were face to face.  
__I'd tell you just what you mean to me..._

* * *

"No!" Gilan's immediate reaction was to protest, but Morgarath just laughed coldly, an almost condescending smirk crossing his features.

"As if you can stop me. And don't worry—you'll join him soon enough. When this battle's won, all you Rangers will be seeing quite a lot of each other in my dungeons, where you'll have the privilege of listening to each other scream." Morgarath sneered at Gilan and jerked Will towards his horse. Will struggled, and Morgarath painfully twisted his arm behind his back. Will bit his lip.

"Then take me instead!" Gilan shouted, ignoring the frantic _NO! _that Will was practically screaming at him with his eyes. "Leave him!"

Morgarath was about to reply when he was interrupted by a horse breaking through the circle of Skandians that had formed around the altercation. It was Chirath, one of Morgarath's wargal lieutenants who had learned basic human speech and mannerisms. "My lord," it said flatly, monotonously. "I am sorry to interrupt. The left flank needs your urgent attention." Gilan felt a surge of relief wash over him like a huge wave. Will was safe—for the time being. There was no way that Morgarath was going to carry a prisoner around the battlefield with him, especially not a Ranger.

Morgarath, seemingly, had the same idea, and cursed loudly. Will winced. Apparently the greater the Dark Lord's anger, the tighter his grip. With one last surge of hatred, Morgarath shoved Will away from him and towards Gilan. The apprentice nearly lost his balance but he needn't have worried: Gilan caught him neatly and placed a steady hand on his shoulder as Morgarath looked to Erak. "Hold these prisoners, _Captain,_" he threatened, "on pain of your life."

Then he turned to Will, fixing his eyes totally on the bright brown ones of the apprentice. "We shall finish this later," he said, words directed only at Will now, and Will felt a shiver of fear run up and down his spine. Gilan's hand tightened on his shoulder and oddly enough, Will felt somewhat reassured. Morgarath spurred his horse and turned sharply, moving away from the group at a fast trot. Chirath followed him obediently, leaving the Skandian party and their captives to their own devices.

Erak watched the retreating warlord with a dark eye. He muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath before turning to the rest of his crew. "That's it," he said. "We're getting out of here. We fight for profit, and when there's none to be had we skip." Murmurs of agreement came from the mouths of the Jarl's crew, and he nodded in satisfaction. He then looked at Will. He said nothing, but his eyes moved up and down appraisingly. He nodded once, in what, neither Ranger could tell—approval? agreement?—then turned to face his second in command.

"We leave once the girl gets back." He raised his voice. "Pack up camp! Be ready to move!"

Gilan's hand, Will realized, was still on his shoulder. "You all right?" the older Ranger asked in concern, and Will nodded.

"Scared to death. Fine." He took a deep breath.

Gilan heaved a long, drawn out sigh. "Well, you heard Erak. You won't have to worry about him any more."

"Yeah," Will replied sardonically. "Because we'll be headed for Skandia on a slave ship. That makes me feel so much better."

Gilan didn't reply. But he didn't remove his hand either.

* * *

Crowley approached the king's tent curiously. When he'd last left the Ranger command tent, Halt had been sitting at a folding table staring at maps (and probably taking nothing in). They had been the tent's sole occupants, and his friend's miserable silence was beginning to drive Crowley mad. So naturally, when he had been summoned to speak with Duncan, he was secretly thrilled.

The guards standing outside the tent instantly allowed him access with a nod of respect upon seeing his oakleaf. Crowley tucked the pendant back under his shirt collar with one hand and pulling back the tent flap with the other. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Crowley asked, and Duncan nodded from inside. The king was standing next to a replica of the battlefield, shoulders sagging as though a great weight had been forced upon them. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was just a little bit more haggard than usual. He nodded tiredly.

"Yes, Crowley. Come in—and please, sit down."

While he moved to do as the king asked, Crowley took a minute to study his old friend. A quick glance at the man and some might have said he was simply tired, but Crowley knew better. The king wasn't tired—he was exhausted. And more than that, there was an air of sadness about Duncan, one that had clouded over Araluen's leader the previous day and most likely wouldn't leave until his daughter was returned safely to him.

In other words, he was exactly like Halt.

"So what did you wish to discuss with me?" Crowley asked upon taking the empty seat in front of the king. Duncan sighed deeply.

"I have a matter of importance to bring up. I'm sorry to do it in this manner, however." Crowley waved off the apology, growing more curious as the king went on.

"It's no matter. Anyone in your position would do the same."

He regretted the words almost as soon as they had left his mouth. Well-meaning as they were, sorrow came across Duncan's face instantly when he heard them. "Unfortunately, it is my current position I need to talk about." Crowley refrained from biting his lip. _Oh. _"I must apologize to you—and to everyone else who is helping me command this war."

Now that, of all things, Crowley hadn't been expecting.

"For what, sir?" he asked, surprised. Duncan sighed again.

"I know I've been neglecting my duty as a leader, and my duty as King—don't bother telling me it isn't true, because I know it is. I've allowed myself to wallow in my own grief, put myself before this country. And I must apologize to you for that." Duncan ran his fingers through his hair, which seemed to have gotten grayer overnight. "I also swear that from this moment on, things will be different."

"No one expects you to be back to normal already, sir," Crowley said respectfully, but Duncan shook his head.

"It's my job as King," he said in simple terms. "I have to carry on for my country."

The two men fell into a depressed silence. The only sounds were of battle preparations outside, which did nothing to brighten the mood. Crowley finally decided to break the silence.

"You're not alone in your grief, you know."

Duncan looked up. "I understand," he replied, weary. "There are other fathers grieving the loss of their sons, and their grief is no lesser than mine. We're fighting a war, after all." Crowley, however, shook his head now in polite disagreement.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

The Ranger pursed his lips thoughtfully, and hesitated a bit before replying. "Halt has lost much as well…"

"Yes!" Duncan exclaimed, voice rising in volume. He stood and began pacing "Yes, he lost his _apprentices._ I have lost my _daughter—_my only daughter…" His voice wavered slightly, and Crowley felt pity for him—but that pity didn't come anywhere near the amount of pain he felt for his best friend, who was suffering more than anyone (except for him) would ever know.

"Halt takes his role as a teacher very seriously, sir," Crowley said quietly. "I believe he understands more than you think." He, too, rose from his seat. "Now if I may?"

Duncan fell back into his seat, puzzled, but didn't press the matter. "Yes, of course," he said. "You're busy. I know."

Crowley stood and, after a polite nod to the king, exited the tent. Duncan was suffering, he could tell. Halt was also (perhaps even more so), but the Corps Commandant didn't want to tell Duncan that outright. Halt's relationship with his apprentices went deeper than most, but that wasn't any of the king's business. If Halt wanted to tell him that he, too, had lost sons to this war then so be it.

Until then, Crowley would keep his friend's secret.

* * *

Halt stared down at the map without really seeing anything. A pile of urgent reports lie in his lap, unread. He shook his head angrily, murmuring something under his breath as he tried to refocus. Other fathers had lost sons, he told himself. Other fathers had gone through the same thing. And after all, it wasn't as if Gilan and Will were his _real_ sons. He was their teacher; they, his students. But somewhere along the line—

Maybe it was because Will was an orphan. Gilan was too, now, he reminded himself. Maybe it was because you could look at their eyes and somehow see that they didn't have anyone.

How foolish he'd been! As a Ranger, Halt saw death frequently. He'd seen all a manner of horrors. He wasn't afraid to give his own life for his country. But somehow, he'd thought they had all the time in the world. Not once had he ever considered _anything _like this…

He had to find them. There was no other choice. Duncan wouldn't like it. Crowley would probably like it even less. But Gilan and Will didn't deserve this, and he was going to get them back no matter what—and if it was only to serve his own selfish feelings, then so be it.

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter for you all! For those of you who didn't get it, last chapter's title was by Three Days Grace. Shoutout to LORRIE THE NINJA ELF and CAITHLINN13 who guessed the band correctly! Up this week: The song The Words I Would Say is by what band? Lyrics, again, are at the top :) **

**A shout out to all my fanTAStic reviewers! You make me smile even more than the 9th Doctor. I'm very thankful for all the encouragement I've received so far. I would also like to thank everyone who has favorited/followed this story. You're all brilliant! **


	5. Hold My Heart

**PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! I'm actually up in Canada, and haven't had wifi for the past few days. I AM SO SORRY! I also have to apologize for being a horrible human being and not replying to ANY reviews this week (I don't think, anyway.) I feel so horrible! But this is a big trip for my family, and I've been swimming, and volunteering at VBS, and going to a writing camp, so I literally had NO free time AT ALL. **

**If it makes you feel better, I'll update chapter 5 on Saturday as usual. AND I will reply to EVERY review I get before then. And after then, actually. My sincere apologies, I really hope this won't happen again.**

* * *

**~~~CHAPTER FOUR~~~**

_I've been so afraid, afraid to close my eyes,  
__So much can slip away before we say goodbye.  
__But if there's no other way,  
__I'm done asking why..._

_One life, that's all I am,  
__Right now I can barely stand,  
__If you're everything you say you are, won't you  
__Come close, and hold my heart?_

* * *

It felt as if they'd been walking for days.

It was hot, for June, and the summer sun beat down uncomfortably on the mismatched group. Their feet were sore and tired—for while they hadn't quite been walking for days, they certainly hadn't stopped in hours, and while hours weren't quite as spectacularly long as days this was still nothing to laugh at.

Of course, Gilan was having a hard time finding _anything_ to laugh at right then.

Since Evanlyn had rejoined their group, Gilan had caught no sight of the darker, more cynical side of himself Will had shown earlier. He was once again the cheerful one with the easygoing attitude and the infectious smile, even in their drastic circumstances, and Gilan could already see that though he himself was Evanlyn's pillar of strength and protection, Will was her source of hope that things would be all right in the end.

Maybe, Gilan thought, remembering Will's dark tone and expression—maybe Evanlyn wasn't the only one who needed a little bit of hope.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. Talking was strongly discouraged with the Skandian's fists, as the Araluens had found out the hard way. Gilan doubted the upside-the-head sort of smack Will had been given felt nice with his concussion. And it wasn't as if he could just pull Will aside and let the rest of the group carry on.

And that wasn't all he had to worry about. What of the battle? Who had won? What was the result? Where was Morgarath, and, more importantly, where was Halt? The very thought of something happening to his old master was enough to send shivers racing up and down Gilan's spine. He wanted now more than ever to run back and jump into the battle and fight with everyone else. But he had made his choice, back at the bridge.

So he stayed.

And so they marched.

* * *

Halt searched desperately through the crowd of wargals, only one thought on his mind. Find Will and Gilan. The strange bestial creatures milled about aimlessly now that there was no one to control them, but Halt paid them no heed. He knew that they had been here—or at least, somewhere near here. Morgarath's taunting words from before the battle were stuck in his head, replaying over and over again.

_What do you think the older one would to do protect the boy?_

Halt renewed his efforts, pushing and shoving his way through the seemingly endless sea of wargals.

_Not that it will matter, in the end. _

They had suffered too much already. To be taken away, now, when he was so close… He couldn't let that happen. He had to find them. Think, he told himself. Think. They're Skandians. Skandians… Wolfships…

The fens. It had to be. Treacherous though they were, the fens were the quickest way to the nearest shore from this side of the battleground—and if there was one thing Halt knew about Skandians, it was that they always had a quick getaway.

He whistled to Abelard behind him. The faithful horse came to him quickly, as if he sensed his master's urgency. "Come on, boy," Halt whispered in his horse's ear. He swung himself up into the saddle and set Abelard forward at a fast pace. Even in their mindless state, the wargals' fear of cavalry was still present, and they parted in a panicked state as Abelard cantered ahead, gathering speed with every stride.

_You'll never see them again._

* * *

"Faster!" Erak called, pointing at the wolfship up ahead. "There."

"Obviously," Will muttered under his breath, and Gilan sent him a warning glance. While he privately agreed—there was only one giant wolfship on the beach, for heaven's sake—that didn't mean they were in a good position to vocalize their thoughts in such a way. The Skandians, however, didn't even so much as look Will's way. Maybe they were concerned about being followed? Gilan didn't know.

The dirt underfoot began to slowly turn to sand. The knot of tension in Gilan's stomach grew larger and larger with each passing second. He wasn't a religious person by definition, but still he found himself praying (to whom, he wasn't sure) that Halt was all right, that he was coming, that he would be able to save them from this nightmare. The alternative to _any_ of those was unthinkable, especially now that he had more than himself to worry about.

"There's a skiff by the beach," Erak said. "That'll take us to the ship." Will glanced behind him, and Gilan resisted the temptation to do the same. If Halt came, they'd know. _When _Halt came, they'd know.

* * *

To most people, the fens were impassable. Thick, dense, swampy forests with no real pathways created a perfectly impossible maze combined with the lack of large amounts of sunlight and the quicksand patches that had a nasty habit of cropping up when you least expected them. Most people said that there was no way through them.

Then again, most people weren't Rangers—and most of those Rangers weren't Halt.

He and Abelard had been forced to slow down once they entered the thick tangle. The Rangers knew their way around the fens reasonably well, but that didn't mean Halt was just going to charge through the middle. Abelard was always at risk of falling into a patch of quicksand, and several times Halt had been forced to dismount and take the reins so that he could guide the horse around them. It was slow going, but they were getting there.

Abelard picked up his head and whinnied. Alarmed, Halt turned on his heel, knife in his hand, but there was no one. Halt paused, and inhaled deeply. There—a sea breeze. Abelard had picked it up. The fens were thinning.

"_Merci, bon ami,_" he murmured, scratching Abelard in between the ears. Instead of snuffling in pleasure as he normally would have, however, the little horse tossed his head in the direction of the beach. _Hurry up! _he seemed to be saying. Halt nodded, acquiescing the point.

"Let's go."

* * *

_Halt's coming. Halt's coming. Halt's coming._

Will repeated the mantra in his head over and over. _Halt's coming. Halt's coming. _He had to be. He wouldn't leave them. And he _wasn't _dead. He couldn't die. Not now, not ever.

He risked another glance at the tree line behind them. Nothing had changed—no sudden disturbances. No one was there.

One of the Skandians smacked the back of his head, and Will saw stars. Gilan grabbed at his arm and steadied him so that he wouldn't stumble. Will concentrated on the light pressure of Gilan's fingers. "Eyes up front," Gilan muttered, not unkindly, and Will obeyed. The skiff was getting closer and closer.

_Halt's coming. Halt's coming. Halt's coming._

"What the devil—" one of the Skandians swore, and Will heard a noise from behind him.

* * *

Halt nudged his heels into Abelard's sides, urging him into a full gallop. In front of him, he saw Will turn towards him. He tried to shout, but he was promptly backhanded into the small skiff on the beach. Gilan followed soon after, and Halt redoubled his efforts. He was so close—he couldn't lose them now.

He took both hands off the reins, grabbing his bow with one and an arrow with the other. Notch, sight, aim, release… The pattern he'd drilled into Will's and Gilan's heads a thousand times now ran through his. And the arrow flew true, as did the others after it. Was it Halt's imagination, or did Abelard get just the tiniest bit faster?

* * *

"Pull!" Erak shouted. "Pull like the devil himself's after you!" The Skandians obeyed, rowing harder and faster, muscles straining. Gilan beckoned to Will and Evanlyn, and they crawled into the center of the boat just as Will detected the familiar hissing sound of an arrow in flight.

_Thwack!_

One of the Skandians yelped as the arrow struck the wood near his hand, and the others reacted in total panic. "Harder!" Erak urged, and his crew obeyed, pulling like mad. Three other arrows struck the boat—one going through a crew members arm, another narrowly missing his leg, and one striking the side of the skiff uselessly. Halt moved to draw again, but Gilan's heart sank—Abelard was knee-deep in the waves, and they were fast moving out of range.

Halt had come for them. But he wasn't in time.

The skiff reached the wolfship, and the Skandians began to board, hauling the three Araluens up onto the seemingly gigantic vessel. None of them struggled against their captors. What was the use? Gilan thought dully. They might as well get used to it early.

The Skandians ran about the ship as Erak shouted orders, settling into their respective jobs as the wolfship gained speed. The Araluens stood, forgotten as the pirates worked busily around them, now secure in their knowledge that the mysterious green-and-grey-cloaked Ranger was far out of range.

Unnoticed by the crew, Will moved to stand by the railing. Gilan followed him. He placed a hand on Will's shoulder, and they both blinked back tears as the wind carried Halt's voice to them.

"Will! Gilan! Stay alive! I'll find you wherever they take you!"

The Rangers stood motionless at the ship's railing, both simultaneously fighting tears and being a source of comfort to the other. They watched as the seemingly tiny figure on his horse grew smaller and smaller, so close and yet so far away.

Will felt hopelessness closing in on him. Gilan's hand on his shoulder was the only thing anchoring him reality. "He promised," the apprentice whispered, numb, and he sensed Gilan nod beside him.

"And if there's one thing we know about Halt," he said gently, "it's that he _always_ keeps his promises." They were both Halt's apprentices, and they knew better than anyone that Halt never swore oaths he didn't intend to keep.

Will didn't reply. But then again—he didn't need to.

* * *

_So many questions without answers,  
__Your promises remain.  
__I can't see you but I'll take my chances  
__To hear you call my name  
__To hear you call my name..._

* * *

**Congratulations to LORRIE THE NINJA ELF and CAITHLINN13 who guessed the band correctly! Last week's *winces in shame* was Sidewalk Prophets. And up this week, from the same genre: What band wrote and recorded the song Hold My Heart? Lyrics are both at the top and the bottom this week, I'm switching things up :) **

**Please review! I didn't really like the ending of this chapter, and I want to hear what you think of it. Feel free to scathe against me all that you desire for the late update, but... Review anyway? *is hopeful***


	6. Too Much Time On My Hands

**Here I am, as promised! Hope you like the new chapter! Disclaimer: Nolo agnosco. If my Latin is correct-well, you know what that means.**

**Review reply to J.D (Guest):**** Thanks for being so understanding about the update and I appreciate the review!**

**So everyone, this is where things start picking up. From here on out, chapters will either be focusing on Gilan's, Will's, and Evanlyn's journey (which will be darker and have more angst and h/c) or Halt and Crowley as they're traveling to rescue them (which will tend to be more lighthearted but will still have action). Just so you guys know the plan!**

* * *

**~~~CHAPTER FIVE~~~  
**

_Is it any wonder I'm not crazy? Is it any wonder I'm sane at all?  
__Well I'm so tired of losing—I got nothing to do and all day to do it,  
__I go out cruising but I've no place to go and all night to get there,  
__Is it any wonder I'm not a criminal?  
__Is it any wonder I'm not in jail?  
__Is it any wonder I've got  
__  
__Too much time on my hands, it's ticking away with my sanity,  
__Too much time on my hands, it's hard to believe such a calamity,  
__I've got too much time on my hands, and it's ticking away from me…_

* * *

_Two weeks later_

Crowley took a glance through the dingy window of the tavern and cringed. There were multiple reasons for this—one, the window was _really_ very dirty. Someone ought to have cleaned it a week ago, at least. Two, the scene inside was just what he had been afraid of: a crowd of rowdy, drunken men singing inappropriate folk songs loudly and off-key while dancing around (or crashing into) the tables, flirting with any women (or, for the more inebriated ones, men as well) who came near them, and (can't forget this one) drinking. This was actually normal for a weekend night in any tavern, but the scene itself wasn't really what Crowley was worried about.

It was the fact that Halt was right in the middle of it.

Now, Crowley had never married, nor had he ever had children and therefore couldn't fully understand losing them, but for heaven's sake—couldn't Halt see he was no use to either of his boys drunk off his mind?

It had been two weeks ago to the day that Halt had ridden back to the Araluen camp, cold and soaking wet and absolutely _miserable._ One look at his face had said it all. Crowley hadn't bothered asking what had happened—he'd just taken his friend into his tent, gotten him dressed in dry clothes, and forced him to sleep before going off to speak with the King. What Halt, in his grief, had failed to realize were the possible repercussions of the kidnapping. One princess, two Rangers. If anyone were to discover their identities… But nothing had really been accomplished because, other than stating said possible repercussions, neither was sure what they could do to actually prevent them. So they decided to let it be, for the moment.

Crowley had then called an emergency Gathering and assigned the Rangers several different tasks around the country—mainly cracking down on the post-war crime sprees that always seemed to spring up around this time. Annoying little buggers. His best, however, were out tracking down Foldar (one of Morgarath's most powerful commanders, a human with a particular thirst for bloodshed). Halt had been among them—_had_ clearly being the operative word in that sentence, seeing as they'd both ended up here, at the tavern.

There were several different types of drunk people. For example, Crowley was a happy drunk. He was always one of the people singing loudly and grinning like there was no tomorrow. Gilan was a clumsy drunk (he fell over _a lot, _even for a drunk person). Crowley was willing to bet Will would be a clingy drunk when he got a bit older. But Halt—Halt was a grumpy drunk, and even worse, a politically inclined drunk. And a politically inclined Halt usually led to bad things.

Bad things like sedition.

And sedition mixed with alcohol equaled Halt not knowing when to keep his mouth shut, and most likely arrested at some point.

Long story short, Crowley needed to be inside that tavern _yesterday._

He moved away from the window and towards the door, suppressing a sigh. He was all for the "friendship through thick and thin" concept, but even he had to admit that this was a low moment and would probably end badly. The heavy wooden door was worn and scarred, and several long, deep, suspicious looking cuts decorated its exterior. Knife cuts? Crowley didn't know. He didn't really _want_ to know.

Upon entering, he quickly strode over to the table where Halt had situated himself. As always, it was in the darkest corner of the room—so that he could watch any worrisome characters while being secure in the knowledge that no one could sneak up on him from behind. It was basic Ranger training, and some habits stuck even while totally drunk. Apparently, this was one of them. Halt was scowling at the crowd of dancers from behind his mug when Crowley came to stand beside him.

"Crowley?" Halt growled, and Crowley sighed, reaching out for Halt's cup.

"I think you've had enough for tonight, Halt."

When the grizzled Ranger didn't reply, Crowley decided to take his chances. He reached out and wrapped his hands around the outside of the mug, pulling gently so as not to spill the liquid inside—was that paint thinner? He wrinkled his nose. Halt, who was a) drunk and b) holding onto the handle with only a loose grip lost the tug-of-war and Crowley set the mug down on another table, giving it a shove as he did so. If it spilled, he was doing someone a public service. They should be grateful to him for getting rid of that horrid stuff so that they didn't have to suffer through drinking it.

When he turned back to Halt, the Ranger was glaring at him. "Crowley," he said, halfway between a growl and a slur, and Crowley tried very hard not to laugh. Really, he did.

"Come on, Halt," he said, lowering his voice. "You're not doing Will and Gilan any good by coming out here and getting drunk."

In response to this, Halt made a noise that was probably supposed to sound incredulous. "Drunk? M—mme? No…"

"Yes," Crowley replied patiently. "Come on, Halt, let's go."

"But—"

"No." Crowley's voice was suddenly like steel. "No. You can't do this to yourself, Halt. I won't let you." Halt shrugged.

"Well then, wh—what'm I s'pposed ta do?" he glared again. "Can't go aft'r them 'cause _you_ said—" he fell forwards unsteadily, catching himself with his elbow on the table. Crowley's eyebrows widened in alarm. Halt had had more to drink than he'd thought. "Said we had ta do our duty."

"Well not like this, you're not," Crowley stated helpfully. He was smart enough to realize they had to leave _now,_ before Halt decided to start sharing his feelings with the public. He grabbed his friend's arm and hauled him upwards, dragging him away from the table. "Come on. We're leaving."

Halt stumbled, and Crowley tightened his grip on his arm. "Shankssh, Crowley," Halt mumbled, and Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Any time, Halt." He began leading them towards the door. On the way, a man wrapped in a pink scarf that hopefully wasn't his waltzed past them on his own. He tipped his very much imaginary hat at Crowley, who nodded in as much of a respectful way as he could manage. Perhaps the man was more likeable when he was sober.

The door banged shut behind them on their way out. People stared, but neither of them was wearing their cloaks. Halt must've been planning on getting drunk, Crowley thought, and left his behind on purpose so that his reputation would remain intact. That sounded like something he would do, to avoid the gossip. As he had the thought, he turned to Halt. "No more taverns, all right?"

"Nope," Halt agreed, and Crowley frowned. That meant Halt was simply humoring him—the Ranger never would have agreed so easily. Either that, or the paint thinner Halt had been consuming earlier had done something to the part of his brain that controlled personality. He decided to just let it go for the time being.

Halt's grabbed at Crowley's hand. "I jusht missh them, ya know?"

Something in the back of Crowley's throat ached. He swallowed. "You'll get them back, soon, Halt. You'll see." Halt shrugged despondently.

"Maybe."

Crowley swallowed again. "I swear it."

He thought he heard Halt murmur something about going after them himself, despite the fact that Duncan had already said no. Wisely, the Commandant kept his mouth shut and kept walking—though Halt's words had set the cogs turning in his mind. Halt was right, up to a point. Of course, he would prefer Halt working on the Foldar case, but if all Halt was doing with his free time was getting drunk anyway…

* * *

Halt was going to have a massive hangover come morning, Crowley thought. A part of him felt bad for his best friend—and another part of him felt somewhat vindicated. After all, he had done a fair bit of embarrassing himself in public to get Halt away from the tavern last night. It was only right that Halt suffer as well. And yet another part of him was glad that Halt wouldn't be waking up for a while. He didn't want the Ranger finding out his plans, as he would insist on accompanying him (after all, Halt would say, they were _his_ apprentices). But Crowley wanted to do this alone. Their present solution to the problem at hand wasn't helping anyone, least of all Halt, and in Crowley's mind the only logical conclusion was to come up with another solution.

He had to go see the King.

* * *

**Congratulations to CAITHLINN13, LORRIE THE NINJA ELF, and BOOK SOLDIER who all guessed the band correctly! Hold My Heart is by Tenth Avenue North. Now up this chapter: Which classic rock band recorded and performed the song Too Much Time On My Hands? Lyrics are up at the top of the page.**

**NOTE: I am going away to camp for a few days without ANY electronics, so the next chapter will be written in my notebook during free time :) Also, I won't be able to reply to any reviews until Thursday night. Please be patient, and note that I won't even be able to READ any of my reviews until then! Despite this unfortunate fact, reviews are still very much appreciated, no matter what you have to say (as long as you're not flaming) and will be replied to eventually.**

**Thanks, and please review!**


	7. We Are Not Shining Stars

**Disclaimer: Shockingly enough, I still don't find myself in ownership of Ranger's Apprentice.**

**Review reply to no-oneimportant (Guest): ****I'm really glad you like my AU ****decision to include Gilan; he's one of my favorite characters as well. He's going to be in here a lot, so don't you worry about me neglecting him! I hope you like what I have in store for him in the future!**

**Itty bitty shoutout to my awesome friend Zeus DieKraft: Hope you like the lyrics to this chapter haha. If you can't guess the band we have a problem. And I know the song is overused, but the lyrics fit so perfectly! Ah, well.**

* * *

**~~~CHAPTER SIX~~~**

_She swore and said we are not,  
__We are not shining stars.  
__This I know,  
__I never said we are.  
__Though I've never been through Hell like that  
__I've closed enough windows to know you can never go back..._

* * *

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with S."

"Sky. Gilan, your turn."

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with… S."

"Sea. Evanlyn?"

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with—"

"If it starts with S," Will interrupted, "I may well stab you." Evanlyn frowned.

"Well there goes that idea."

Will sighed. "There has to be something here that doesn't start with S!" he exclaimed, and Gilan shrugged.

"Well, we're on a _ship_ that has _sails_ and we're at _sea_, and we can see the _sky_ and the _sun_ and—" Will held up his hands, effectively stopping the flow of various s-words. "All right," he conceded. "Lots of things start with S."

"Maybe we should do something else," Evanlyn suggested, and the two Rangers nodded emphatically.

"Let's do that," Gilan agreed. "After all, a ship gets boring somewhat quickly. There's only so much to see."

After the initial shock at being kidnapped wore off, the three Araluens were naturally consumed with worry for what would happen to them upon their arrival in—wherever they were supposed to arrive. Probably Hallasholm, Gilan assumed, if their Skandian captors were planning on selling them. That was where most of the slave trade interactions took place in Skandia. Then the worry wore off—after all, Evanlyn had said, there was nothing they could do to change their circumstances right then—and they were suddenly struck by how immensely boring being at sea could get.

Like Gilan said, there was only so much to look at. Wolfships weren't that interesting.

"Tic tac toe?" Evanlyn suggested, and Will's shoulder's slumped.

"Nothing to draw with," he said glumly.

Ever the optimist, Evanlyn replied, "We could ask."

"Yes, _that_ would go over well," Gilan remarked sarcastically. Evanlyn sighed.

"Well, there is no way I'm even considering playing hide and seek with you two."

Gilan inclined his head towards her. "Probably a wise idea."

"And they already think we practice witchcraft," Will added. "We don't need them thinking we're trying to perform some sort of ritual."

"_Ritual?_" Evanlyn snorted. "It's _hide and seek._ Who mistakes hide and seek for witchcraft?"

"How many kids play hide and seek after they turn ten?" Will retorted, and Evanlyn rolled her eyes.

"From what I hear, you Rangers do it all the time! And besides, how many kids are stuck on a wolfship headed for Skandia as slaves?"

Gilan didn't smile. "More than you'd think," he said, intending for the comment to come out sounding somewhat more amusingly than it did. Instead, his two younger companions fell into a thoughtful silence, this one heavy. Evanlyn stared at up at the sails, while Will examined the wooden planks they sat on. Gilan could see from the grim look Will's face had begun to take on that he was reviewing all the things Halt had ever taught him about Skandians and their slavery system and weighing their chances of escape and/or survival. Preferably they would do both, of course, though surviving without escaping until they were rescued was possible. Being caught and killed in the attempt to get away, however…

Gilan shook himself. It wouldn't do to think about that now. Anyway, they were on a wolfship; it wasn't as if they could just jump off and swim.

"Do you regret it?" Evanlyn asked suddenly, and Gilan somehow knew she was talking to both of them. "The bridge?"

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then: "I would do it again, I think," Will said. His brow was creased in what seemed to Gilan to be an almost permanent frown. "If I had the chance." Gilan gave an almost imperceptible nod of agreement, and Evanlyn bit her lip.

"I would too," she whispered. "I just wish—" She stopped abruptly, and returned to staring at the mast and wind-filled sails.

Will's head turned so that he faced Gilan. "Gil," he began, quietly, so that Evanlyn (who was sitting slightly apart) wouldn't hear. "What are the chances of us staying together?"

In truth, this was the question that had been plaguing Gilan ever since he and Will had stood at the wolfship's railing, watching as they sailed away from the only father the boy had ever known. Would they stay together? Probably not, Gilan knew. Maybe the two of them—_maybe._ It was a small chance. Evanlyn would definitely be separated from them, most likely early on. After that, the odds of the two Rangers not going to different masters, possibly even different towns—

Will took his silence as an answer. He didn't speak again, and neither did Gilan.

* * *

**A/N: SO SORRY about the once-again late update. My excuse this time is that I had to see a cardiologist about a heart murmur. Luckily, it was nothing too serious. You lot still get the story, don't worry. It's just a mild condition I've apparently had since birth. Good thing they caught it now :). But if you can imagine, getting all this worked out was very hectic and time-consuming. I also know this is a shorter chapter... That happens sometimes. Also, school is going to be starting up, so there's a lot of craziness in that department. Less-than-regular updates might become the norm... I'll still try to get them up semi-regularly, though. I'm asking for your understanding there, since most of you are in/have been through high school. And trying to get through high school and be a writer AND a swimmer. Psssht. Not easy.**

**So from last week, no one guessed the song (which might be a good thing, depending on how inane you think Styx is haha). _Too Much Time On My Hands_ is, as you've probably inferred by now, by the rather silly band Styx. Despite the weird hair, I still like the band. Scathe if you will :). Up this week (this is a pretty easy one): The song _Carry On_ is by what band? They're pretty popular. Lyrics are at the top, though they are of the first verse and not the chorus.**

**Please review, as always!**


	8. Until the End

**Disclaimer: If you're still wondering as to whether or not I am John Flanagan, let me clear that up for you. I'm a high school girl from Pennsylvania who has a strange penchant for cracking her various iDevices. Sound familiar? Well, unless you're a few people who actually know me, hopefully not cause that would be awkward.**

* * *

**~~~CHAPTER SEVEN~~~**

_Why give up, why give in?  
__It's not enough, it never is  
__So I will go on until the end.  
__We've become desolate,  
__It's not enough, it never is,  
__But I will go on until the end._

_I've lost my way,  
__I've lost my way,  
__But I will go on until the end._

* * *

Halt was silent and invisible as a wraith as he slipped through the long, twisting corridors leading up to Duncan's primary office. He knew the way by heart; after all, he couldn't count the number of times he had been a friend and a guest there by invitation. This time, however, was different.

In his hand, he clutched a letter, neatly folded and sealed. He had labored over it for long hours the night before, writing draft after draft, until he was satisfied with the end result.

He had thought about things for a long time after he'd woken up and gotten rid of his pounding headache. Crowley left a note telling him not to go near any pubs, which gave him a good idea of what he'd been up to the night before. But as many would tell you, a day spent recovering from a massive hangover is a good day for thinking, and so Halt did just that.

Years ago, Halt had sworn an oath to his King, to his country, and to the Ranger Corps. He'd sworn to protect and defend, to follow orders, to serve the Crown. And all those years, that oath had governed his decisions and actions, even the way he lived. But then, just days ago, watching the boys he thought of as his own sailing away as captives, he'd made another promise.

_"Will! Gilan! Stay alive! I'll find you wherever they take you!"_

He'd promised he would find them. He'd _promised. _But they didn't want him to go. There were things to be done here, in Araluen, they said. And Halt had bitten his lip until it bled but he'd complied and followed orders—until now. He'd finally come to the realization that he couldn't keep both promises. He would have to choose: his country or his sons.

And there was never any question in his mind which came first.

Yet, Halt still loved Araluen. He loved the people, the land, the traditions and culture. He had served it all for years, after all. And one thing he didn't want was for things to get messy. Crowley—dare he even _think_ it—had been right. He couldn't keep drinking himself away into nothingness. When he was drunk, he had no control over his actions. He might say things he didn't mean, do things he would normally never do. Any of those options would produce unsatisfactory results that would only serve to hurt himself and others.

No, Halt thought. This was definitely the best way.

The letter was his official resignation. Once he slipped it under Duncan's office door, he was no longer a Ranger. He was his own man, free to go where he pleased when he pleased, and most importantly he had no orders to follow.

And right now, he was headed to Skandia.

* * *

The woods were dark, even at noon. Darker than they'd seemed yesterday. Strange, Halt thought, how colors seem to dim and darken when you're depressed.

Which he wasn't, of course. He was simply upset in an understandable way. After all, this land had been his home for decades. He'd known that leaving it would be hard, he just hadn't expected it to be _this _difficult. The idea of parting with the gentle woods and towering castles, quite possibly for good, was making Halt miserable.

At least if nothing else, he thought, he was able to suffer in solitude.

And of course, not thirty seconds after the thought had crossed his mind, hoofbeats sounded behind him. Abelard whinnied as if he'd met an old friend, and Halt almost groaned aloud. With Will and Gilan gone, there was only one person it could be, and only one reason he would come.

The hoofbeats grew closer, and Halt reined Abelard to a stop. Seconds later, Crowley's horse pulled alongside Abelard.

"Halt—" the man began at once, but Halt cut him off.

"I've made my choice, Crowley," he said firmly, "and there's no convincing me otherwise. Though I must say," he added, sadness touching his dark eyes, "I was hoping you'd forget." Crowley nodded as if in agreement.

"I truly am sorry, Halt," he expressed sincerely, but Halt shrugged off the apology.

"We both have our promises to keep."

Determinedly not meeting his friend's gaze, Halt reached inside his collar for his oakleaf. He supposed he had known this was coming all along. Any oath made to Will and Gilan took first priority to him. But he was surprised by how deeply he felt the pain of the broken vow he'd made to his country as he removed the chain that held his oakleaf. He thrust it at Crowley, expecting for the man to take it and ride away. Farewells had never been his strong suit, and he knew Crowley felt the same.

Instead, however, Crowley tilted his head in confusion and looked at Halt as if he were the strangest thing he'd ever seen. "What're you giving me that for?" he asked in bewilderment. "Do you think you'll lose it when we get to Gallica?"

"I thought… Since I was…" Halt trailed off. "Wait—you're coming with me?"

Crowley gave him a smile and a carefree shrug. "Wouldn't miss it for the world!" he said with a sunny grin. "You didn't think I was about to let you go off on your own, did you?"

For the sixth time in his life, Halt was properly speechless. "I—" he stopped. "How—"

The grin dropped off Crowley's face. "Two Rangers were taken, Halt," he said quietly. "Along with the Crown Princess. This is serious—a threat to national security, even." Halt recovered quickly.

"So this is—"

"A mission." Crowley's tone was brisk, now. "Unofficial, of course. _Officially,_ your resignation has been reviewed and accepted by myself and the King. I'm off on a top-secret mission to do something very important, I'm sure. But Halt, you have to understand." Crowley was dead serious. "I know you want to find Will and Gilan. We _have to hurry,_ and not just because they're in danger. Duncan needs his best Rangers working on this one, and that's you and me."

Crowley nodded towards the oakleaf Halt still held in his hand. "By the way… You'll be needing that." Their eyes met, and an agreement was reached. There was a light in Halt's eyes that had been missing recently, Crowley noted with approval. He dug his heels into his own horse's sides, turning him around so that he was ahead of Halt on the path. His head turned to face his friend's.

"Now let's go find your boys."

* * *

_The final fight I'll win,  
__The final fight I win,  
__The final fight I win,  
__And I will go on until the end._

* * *

**Again, feel free to be angry at the lateness, just as long as you express your angryness without flaming... Back to school sucks. Especially if you're an upcoming freshman. *gulp* Seriously though, any advice? I would be glad to read it. And on that note...**

**A whole host of people correctly guessed last week's song title. Here goes the list: ALEX THE ROGUE, CAITHLINN 13, FEATHERS McSTRANGE, LORRIE THE NINJA ELF, 23 BLACK ROSE, AMAZINGWRITER123, BOOK SOLDIER, and last but CERTAINLY not least the wonderfully nerdy ZEUS DIEKRAFT! Thanks to all who reviewed/favorited/alerted, I already have a feeling you guys are gonna be my inspiration not to let the English essays beat me to death :)**

**Up this week: the song Until the End is by what hard rock band from Pennsylvania? Please ****review!**


	9. Tidal Wave

**Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN AAAANYTHIIING! *sob* Yeah.**

**Review reply to ****Just a (Guest): I find myself in agreement with you in many of those areas. John Flanagan is without question a great author, I just thought that what happened in book 3 wasn't the only solution. So for this story, I invented a different one :) Thank you so much for all of your kind words, I really appreciated it :)**

**Review reply to Chopstick Legend (Guest):**** My essays went very well; thank you for the extra luck (it was very helpful, but I had to use it all in Geometry, dang it). I'm glad you like the story. Thanks a heap for your review!**

**Review reply to Alex the Rogue (Guest): ****Glad you like it, thanks for the review! **

**And now, on with the story.**

* * *

**~~~CHAPTER EIGHT~~~**

_I wish I had covered all my tracks completely 'cause I'm so afraid,  
__Is that the light at the far end of the tunnel or just the train?  
__Lift your arms, only Heaven knows where the danger grows  
__And it's safe to say there's a bright light up ahead and help is on the way._

_Help is on the way,  
__I forget the last time I felt brave, I just recall insecurity  
__'Cause it came down like a tidal wave, and sorrow swept over me—  
__Then I was given grace and love, I was blind but now I can see  
__'Cause I found a new hope from above, and courage swept over me…_

* * *

They seemed to be doing a lot of sitting in silence lately, Gilan thought. In their defense, there weren't a huge number of things to discuss. But more often than not, it was a sort of depressed silence that hung over them a bit like a storm cloud.

Speaking of, the air temperature seemed to have dropped over the past hour. It was getting cold.

Will and Evanlyn, off to his right, had started up a conversation about pie. Gilan smiled to himself. He'd had no idea Will was that addicted to it. He made a mental note to ask Halt about that when they got home. Will was currently ranting on about the differences between the taste in sour cherries and sweet ones while Evanlyn smiled tolerantly. It was nice to see them acting like teenagers for once, Gilan mused.

Off by the rudder, Erak and Svengal were conversing anything but casually. Their heads were close together, staring off into the horizon and concentrating fiercely on something. A cold breeze whipped past, and Gilan felt goosebumps rising on the back of his neck. Will absentmindedly rubbed his hands over his arms as he kept talking.

Gilan had a pretty good idea what was going on. Will deserved to know—Evanlyn, too, but he didn't want to ruin their brief moment of peace. Those were so rare these days, and he knew they would be all but gone by the time they reached Hallasholm. He could just let them sit and talk for a few more minutes before he shared his suspicions.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) the choice was made for him. Erak and Svengal reached an agreement, and Svengal grabbed for a coil of thick rope lying off to his right. Evanlyn looked up as he began to advance towards them.

"What now?" she wondered aloud, bemused. "They can't be meaning to tie us up." But Will's face lost some of its color, and Gilan knew he realized what was going on. Svengal shook his head, not unkindly, as he reached the two teenagers sitting on the deck.

"Use this to tie yourselves to the mast," he offered, dropping the rope in between Will and Gilan. "And you'd best get to it quickly."

It was as if someone had flipped a switch at the ominous words. The wind, which had been only minor annoyance moments before, was suddenly biting and sharp. Dark clouds were gathering overhead. The ship was eerily still. Then Erak started barking orders to the rest of the crew, and a flurry of movement broke out over the deck as sea wolves hurried to the sails and oars.

"Come on," Gilan murmured, gently touching Will's shoulder and urging him to stand. "We don't want to get caught out in this—whatever it is." Will nodded and stood, Evanlyn following his lead as they moved over to the mast. Gilan efficiently handed out the rope, and watched approvingly as Will tied a neat bowline knot around his slim waist. He then turned his attentions to Evanlyn, who seemed to be having some difficulty doing the same. He took the rope in his hands and finished off the knot for her.

"Normally, you'd be teaching me how to do this and talking me through it," she said nervously. Gilan looked up briefly from his own knot.

"Maybe later."

She nodded, as if sensing that this was all he was willing to give in the way of reassurances. It wasn't because Gilan didn't want to comfort them—far from it—it was simply that he didn't want to lie. Promises without intent become meaningless. Evanlyn seemed to understand that, to Gilan's relief.

Erak's shouts increased in volume. Will looked behind them. When his eyes met theirs, they were wide and—there was no other word for it—scared. "Gilan," he said, "you might want to finish that knot."

* * *

Gilan's definition of Hell kept being rewritten and rewritten, over and over. He'd thought the searing heat of flames as they'd raced up wood braces and tar, the creaking and groaning of the bridge in its death agony, the _not knowing_ if Will and Evanlyn were okay, were alive, or if they were what had happened to them—that was Hell. But now, as the wolfship began to climb another gigantic wave that they stood no possible chance of reaching the tip of—soaking wet, shivering, heaving and coughing salt water onto the rough planks, sure that they would die any minute—_this _was Hell. What next? he wondered to himself, almost bitterly. They'd already exhausted both temperature extremes. He wasn't sure where they went from here.

Evanlyn was sobbing, begging for her father to rescue her. Will was curled into a pathetic ball on his other side. The big brother in Gilan was crying out to help them, save them, but he had to admit there was nothing he could do. So he settled for wrapping his arms around both of them, drawing them close to his sides.

As they, in turn, leaned close to him, and as the huge waves crashed time and time again over the deck of the wolfship and rain stung at their skin, Gilan found himself strangely at peace. Evanlyn had long since succumbed to unconsciousness, but Gilan could feel Will's uncontrollable shivering, and was aware that he was still awake. He whispered soft, comforting words in the boy's ear, hoping to reassure him somehow that they would come out of this alive.

Was it really less than a week ago that they had been so sure they would die by fire? The irony was astounding. Halt would have appreciated it.

As the hours dragged on, Gilan began to calm down. The fear was still there, the terror, but it was not as present. And as the rain lashed against his unprotected body so hard it was nearly painful, Gilan began to think. His thoughts instantly strayed to the two teenagers at his side.

First, there was Evanlyn.

Obviously, she wasn't who she said she was. Gilan saw her lies easily. He wasn't so sure about Will, though he had an idea that at the very least the boy had some sort of clue that _something_ wasn't right. The question, then, was—who was she really?

She had been chased by wargals. She had pretended to be a boy (but only at first, Gilan reminded himself). She constantly avoided giving away any personal information that would link her to specific people. Generally secretive, then. Hiding her true identity. She probably thought she was doing a decent job, too. But Gilan doubted she was some common farm girl. He still remembered the words she'd first spoken upon meeting them—_"Oh, thank God. You're Rangers." _Most of the common people in Araluen thought they were sorcerers: people to be respected, certainly, and obeyed, but firstly, feared.

So she was definitely lying.

But _who was she?_

That was what they needed to answer. Hitting a dead end with that line of thought yet again, Gilan's thoughts changed tracks.

Will.

Ever since the day Will had so gracefully jumped out of that tree on their way to the Gathering, Gilan had instantly felt a connection with the boy. And as he grew to know him better, he found and got to know all sorts of endearing qualities the cheery apprentice had in abundance. He was witty, clever, cheerful, kind, honest, and brave. He'd proven that for the first time when he'd killed the Kalkara—and even more since then, especially when he'd faced Morgarath. Gilan shuddered at the memory.

The truth was, ever since the three of them had burned that bridge, Gilan had seen the young apprentice in a new light. In an ordinary, everyday setting, Will was bright, funny, quick to learn and ask questions, and generally likeable. It was fun to teach him, be taught alongside him, or just be with him. But after their capture, Will had shown a side of himself Gilan had never seen.

He was definitely brave. That, Gilan had always known. But he was also defiant. He didn't back down without a fight, didn't give in. He was fiercely protective of his friends—and Gilan now felt privileged to count himself among them. He didn't show fear, though he was clearly afraid. He wasn't stupid, Gilan thought—just courageous.

But sometimes—sometimes—Gilan could see behind the mask. Could see that Will wasn't invulnerable, as he would have everyone believe. Sometimes, Will needed someone to be with him—someone to comfort him, keep him steady, tell him everything would be all right. Halt had always done it in the past. But now Halt was gone, and that duty had fallen to Gilan.

To tell the truth, Gilan was starting to see the boy as something of a surrogate brother. He'd wanted a sibling for years, but his parents never had the chance to give him one. He found that, since they'd been thrown (admittedly headfirst) into this new situation, he'd stepped into the role of "older brother" without even thinking. Protecting Will wasn't a chore, it was just something that came naturally. Maybe it was because Will was an orphan and had never had someone like that, or maybe there was just something about him. Whatever it was, Gilan knew that he would keep his promise to Halt. Will would be looked after.

_Wolfwind_ crashed its way over another wave, and Gilan pulled Will closer to his side. He had no idea what was waiting for them in Skandia. Probably nothing good. But whatever did happen, Gilan swore to himself that they would get home safe.

He would make sure of it.

* * *

**I know, I know. Three weeks late. There really aren't any excuses, so I won't make any. I _will_ ****say, however, that high school is making a good effort to beat me into mindless submission. It was a bit surprised when I pulled out a knife and started fighting back, but recovered pretty quickly. I'm not holding up too badly, but this is mortal combat. We'll see how things stand at the end of next week. On another note, thank you all for your wonderful advice. School isn't really that bad so far, and your kind words/encouragement have really helped me these past few weeks. **

**No one got the song title from last chapter, so it was "Until the End" by Breaking Benjamin. Up this week: The song "Tidal Wave" is by what band? Lyrics above, as always. Zeus, I will be very disappointed if you don't get this one.**

**One last announcement: I'm putting this little blurb up here much sooner than I had ever expected, thanks to all my lovely reviewers, but it's that time... 84 reviews and counting! And you know what number 84 is close to... That's right! 100th reviewer gets a sneak peek from a few chapters ahead when Will, Gilan, and Evanlyn are on Skorghjil! It will be an important interaction between Will and Gilan, about 400 words long. Please note that you have to be signed in to get the sneak peek; I can't send it to you if you review anonymously. **

**I'll try to update better this week! Again, very sorry and many apologies. Please review anyway!**


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